


To Dream (The Impossible Dream)

by Michelle



Category: Blood Books - Tanya Huff, Blood Ties (TV)
Genre: F/M, Het, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-13
Updated: 2009-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:53:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28920126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle/pseuds/Michelle
Summary: Sometimes, it’s the vampire who needs rescuing.
Relationships: Henry Fitzroy/Vicki Nelson
Kudos: 1





	To Dream (The Impossible Dream)

**Author's Note:**

> Title: To Dream (The Impossible Dream)  
> Author: Michelle  
> Beta: Nancy  
> Summary: Sometimes, it’s the vampire who needs rescuing.  
> Pairing: V/H  
> Genre: hurt/comfort, het  
> Rating: R  
> Disclaimer: Not mine, sadly. But if you see Henry, tell him he’s welcome over here any time.  
> Author’s Note: This is my first attempt at writing Blood Ties fanfiction, so it’s mostly an exploration of my two favourite characters – Vicki and Henry – with a little hurt/comfort and het thrown into the mix. The title is taken from the song “The Impossible Dream”, the central performance of the musical “Man of La Mancha”. The phrase “meal-on-legs” used in the story, is of course shamelessly stolen from Spike, BtVS ep “Belonging” 2.22.

_"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world."_ (Oscar Wilde)

~*~

Vicki readjusted her grip on Henry’s arm and pratically hustled him into the lobby.

“Try to smile for Greg,” she whispered into Henry’s ear, but judging from the way the vampire was hanging on her, she didn’t think he’d comply with her wishes. Henry wasn’t tall, but damn, that vampire could prove to be a lot of dead weight when he wanted to be. He hadn’t been responsive in over thirty minutes now – ever since she had hailed them a cab. The driver had been extremely amused by the fact that Vicki had to drag and push Henry into the car, so she had played along, fluttering her eyelashes and mumbling something about men who couldn’t hold their liquor. She would have to try the same on Greg, even if it was unlikely that it would work. He had seen the scenario of one of them stumbling to the elevator while the other lent a helping hand just one time too many to not be suspicious.

True enough, Greg’s eyes narrowed dangerously when Vicki and Henry entered. His contract required him to greet each tenant by name, but his “Evening, Mr Fitzroy” was dripping with sarcasm. At least Henry was still walking on his own (mostly). Vicki didn’t want to imagine Greg’s reaction if she'd had to drag an unconscious Henry in by his feet.

“Evening, Greg!” she called cheerfully, even if her voice was slightly strained (Henry was turning out to be _really_ heavy). “I think this one cocktail didn’t agree with Mr Fitzroy, he’s a bit out of sorts.” _Out of sorts_ apparently included Henry’s head lolling uselessly on her shoulder.

“Whatever you say,” Greg muttered under his breath, but Vicki heard him quite clearly. When Henry felt better, he would have to go down and have a little one-on-one with Greg. It would be easier for all of them if Greg didn’t remember this particular encounter. _When_ , not _if_ , because Vicki refused to think anything but positive thoughts right now: He was a vampire, and in the 400-something years of his existence he had surely been subjected to worse than a little stab wound. This just could not be the end of him. However, the fact remained that she had no idea what was actually wrong with him.

She felt relieved when the elevator doors closed and Greg couldn’t see them anymore. Vicki pushed the button for the 14th floor and prayed to whatever god might listen that nobody would choose this particular moment to use the elevator. She leaned Henry against the wall and stood close to him, holding him up mostly with her own body. She had to admit to herself that he didn’t look good. He was always pale, but now he was practically ashen. His skin had taken on that greyish tone one usually only saw on really sick people. Henry was a vampire, though. He hadn’t been sick for a few hundred years and he probably wouldn’t want to start now.

Vicki felt small tremors go through his body and frantically tried to come up with an explanation for what was going on. She drew a blank and was saved from her useless musings by the shrill _diiiing_ announcing they had reached Henry’s floor.

“Okay, just a few more steps,” she encouraged Henry while she slung his arm over her shoulder to help him to his apartment. The movement seemed to jar the wound in his side and he moaned. It was the first sign of life she’d heard from him in ages. Well, if one could call a moan a sign of life. He was still heavy, though, and the walk from the elevator to Henry’s door seemed twice as long as it normally was. And after that they had to cross his living room to get to his bed.

Henry miracously kept going, putting one foot in front of the other. It was mostly instinct or determination, though, because as soon as they reached his bedside he simply collapsed sideways onto the mattress, and no coaxing from Vicki could convince him to at least move enough to end up with his head on the cushion.

It might have been an image conjured up by a sleazy romance writer: attractive vampire sprawled suggestively on crimson satin sheets. The fact that Henry had fallen face first and therefore displayed only a little of his usual attractiveness (if one didn’t count his rather firm butt) destroyed the fantasy, unfortunately. Thankfully, it also helped Vicki to concentrate on the matters at hand and not on her hormones.

She pushed and dragged Henry’s unresponsive body until he was lying properly in bed. For a moment, Vicki stood next to the impressive piece of furniture, observing her handiwork and trying to come up with a battle plan. So far, she had acted only on instinct. However, she had gotten Henry home alive – or as alive as was possible for a vampire. Now she needed to decide what to do next. She could just cover him with those satin sheets and wait for him to get better. It was an option – he was immortal after all, so there was a good chance that he would get better all on his own. She was not the type to sit idly by, though, and she desperately needed something for her hands to do.

In the end, she decided to make Henry more comfortable. She took off his shoes, then his socks. With a bit of trepidation she opened his fly to get his slacks off him. He wore underwear – thank God for small mercies – and the slacks ended up discarded on the floor. That left the dress-shirt. There was a hole in its left side. It was not big, certainly not big enough to explain an unconscious vampire, but it was there – its frayed edges bloody. She had seen the demon stab Henry, but she had had no opportunity to look at the damage yet. Nervously, she opened one button after the other and then dragged the shirt off Henry. It didn’t work without jostling the poor vampire quite a bit and he gave another moan, but he made no move towards waking.

The wound was as inconspicious as the hole in the shirt had been. It looked to have been caused by a small knife or arrow. It had not closed, but it wasn’t bleeding either. From what she had seen of Henry so far, this little scratch shouldn’t bother him to that extend. And yet it did. Vicki frowned, wondering how she could help him. With careful fingers she touched the small wound, but the treatment didn’t seem to agree with Henry. With a sudden gasp and eyes opened to slits, he curled in on himself, pressing his hands to his belly to shield the wound. The sudden reaction took Vicki by surprise.

“Henry!” she called. “Can you hear me?” Henry didn’t react, though. A tremble went through his body before he uncurled slightly. Vicki took one of his hands, alarmed at how cold and lifeless it felt. He did not return her grip, but she was not deterred and held on even tighter to him.

“Come on, Henry. Snap out of it!” Nothing happened and she could not help but brush a stray lock out of his face, marvelling at the fact that he was still beautiful – wounded, unconscious and obviously in a lot of pain, but still beautiful. His face seemed to follow the movement of her hand and he inhaled deeply. She had seen this reaction on him more times than she could count: He was reacting to her scent, to the scent of her blood. She looked at her wrist in consideration.

“Oh, what the hell. The things I do for you, Henry Fitzroy!”

~*~

Henry had no idea where he was or how he had ended up in this place. Had he been in a better frame of mind he probably would have asked himself: _Where am I? Why am I here? What happened?_ However, all he felt at the moment was all-consuming pain. He hurt everywhere, from the roots of his hair to his teeth down to his toes. Being a vampire didn’t mean he was immune to pain, but a hurt that left no room for another thought was something he couldn’t remember experiencing before. Every limb, every inch of his being was on fire, was screaming with pain. And all he could do was whimper for he lacked the strength for anything more elaborate.

For a moment he wondered how he had gotten himself into such a mess (whatever that mess actually was), but the thought was driven from his mind when someone – or something – held a flaming torch to his stomach. Now his whimper turned into a scream. Later, he could be ashamed of this display of weakness, but for the moment voicing his pain was what kept the agony from driving him insane. The flame of the torch licked at his skin and obviously found root. It burned him, the scorched flesh giving off a putrid smell. He wanted to get away from this threat, scramble away from the torch, but he found himself unable to move. His legs felt like lead, heavy and unwilling to obey his commands.

“Henry!” A voice came out of the fog clouding his mind. He would know that voice anywhere and so he clung to it as if the one speaking was holding out a lifeline to him.

“Can you hear me?” _Yes, I hear you,_ he wanted to scream, but nothing came.

It was her scent that chased away the smell of his burnt flesh. It was strong on the air around him, enveloping him in a safe cocoon where no pain could reach. It was rich, distinctly female, a chaos of conflicting perfumes that made up Vicki – her blood pounding beneath her veins, sweet and heavy, the faint echo of her rose-scented shower gel, her hair that smelled of the outside and life and sunshine.

He opened his eyes, unable to resist the lure of her scent. And truly, there she was. She was near enough for a kiss. He could reach out and touch her.

And he did.

She practically floated into his arms, unresisting. Something she would never have done had this been reality, but Henry was not yet ready to apply logic to this experience. She wore jeans and a t-shirt – sensible clothes of the like Henry had come to associate with Vicki. Her hair was loose, though, and there was the faintest brush of makeup on her face.

Vicki molded herself against his body and she was nothing like those other women he had known, and sometimes loved, during his lifetime. Her body was hard and unyielding, all muscular limbs and lean curves. Her stance, upright and sure, implied the knowledge that she could give better than receive. Henry liked the strength of her embrace, there was nothing uncertain or shy about it. Having her this close, feeling her exhale on the tender skin of his collarbone, made him desperate to kiss her and he captured her mouth with his. She did not resist, but did not surrender to his caress either. Vicki duelled with him, inviting him boldly to taste her. His hunger grew, like a living thing clawing at his insides. He growled, the sound low, deep and threatening, and he felt the beast struggle within, the vampire straining to be set free.

Vicki didn’t retreat upon hearing this animalistic admission of longing. She held him closer, urging him to deepen the kiss. The acceptance inherent in her desire made his fangs elongate and Vicki ran her tongue against them, drawing blood instantly. Her essence, her flavour, exploded in his mouth, but the wound she had caused was too tiny to satisfy him. In understanding, Vicki broke their kiss and bared her neck for him. To see her so on display, ready to be devoured in whatever way he desired, was a powerful aphrodisiac and Henry was unable to resist it. He could see her pulse beat madly under the delicate skin of her throat. And then he could see and hear and taste and smell nothing but her blood.

He let himself be consumed by the aroma of her blood, just as she was consumed by his feral attack. His mouth pressed firmly against the bite in her throat and he sucked at the wound lovingly, for he wanted her as much as he wanted her blood. She moaned in response and pressed her body closer. Henry could feel her breasts against his chest and he could smell her sex, her desire. But all that paled in comparison to the taste of her blood in his mouth. He mirrored her moan and felt himself grow hard. Blood and sex and life. What would he be without these things?

He sucked hard at her skin, starved for the blood she was giving so freely. His body sought hers, sought to be as close to her as was humanly possible. They lost their balance and fell. Fell endlessly through fog and cloud and eternity. And when Henry became convinced they would never touch ground, they found themselves on a soft bed, naked.

Henry did not try to make sense of it. He just did what his body wanted him to do, and that was push into Vicki and claim her. He let his hands roam her body, seeking the warmth of her skin, seeking her very life. However, it was the sensation of being joined with her, of thrusting repeatedly and having her meet him halfway, that he craved right now. This was not about romancing the woman he loved. It was not slow and gentle. It was simply his beast claiming the woman it craved and roaring in delight when it got its wish.

There was his hunger and he slaked it with her blood. There was his passion and he slaked it with her body. But there was also something else: gratitude. The gratitude for being known for what he truly was and still being received favourably. There were no mindgames with Vicki. She knew full well what he was doing. She encouraged him. Her body moved like a cat’s under him, elegant and strong, and her purrs of delight soon turned into hisses and moans and screamed encouragements.

She held onto him with all her strength and it was the sensation of her nails drawing blood while running along his shoulder blades that pushed him over the edge. Everything went white the moment he came, feeling Vicki close behind. He let go of her throat, savouring the last drop of her blood and bathing in the sound of her thundering heartbeat. And then everything went silent, then mute and then vanished completely.

~*~

Vicki held a handkerchief to her wrist to stop the small trickle of blood. It was surprisingly easy to let Henry drink from her. She knew it was at least theoretically dangerous and potentially lethal, but she never felt like they were even in sight of that uncrossable line. However far Henry was gone and however desperately he needed blood, he always knew when to stop. He had let go of her wrist on his own, even before she had started to feel the effects of the blood loss.

And as for that other thing... the fact that it felt so damn intimate? Well, she could just ignore it. She was good at ignoring things. She could always tell herself that it was just food to Henry, nothing more.

She took the handkerchief away from her wrist and noticed that the small wound had already closed. Henry, on the other hand, didn’t look much better. He had not awakened, but if she was not totally mistaken his skin colour appeared to be less grey. Tentatively, she placed her hand over his heart and told herself that she was doing it only to check on his health and not because it felt so nice.

His skin was cool, but they were acquainted long enough now that she knew this to be normal. The very slow heartbeat was disconcerting, though. She looked at her watch and waited for a minute – four beats, five beats. Vicki frowned. Was that normal? Why had they never talked about this? She felt awfully inadequate for giving a vampire first aid. She’d done the blood-donating thing and that was pretty much as far as her expertise went.

She debated looking through the contact list of Henry’s cell phone. Who was to say there wasn’t a vampiric in-case-of-emergeny contact on there somewhere? Henry tended to be rather secretive, but he seemed to know quite a few people who could come in handy at one point or other. But with Vicki’s luck lately, she’d just end up calling a meal-on-legs and she’d rather not deal with one of Henry’s fast-food-brides on top of everything else.

Maybe she should check Henry’s library of obscure literature instead. It was possible that it contained some information on the thing that had Henry unconscious on the bed right now. But going through Henry’s books didn’t appeal to her either and, after all, only a small percentage would be in modern English anyway. There would be little chance of success.

She shrugged and removed her hand from Henry’s chest, just a tiny bit wistfully. She couldn’t help brushing her fingers against his forehead once more. Henry sighed and his eyelids fluttered, but nothing more happened. Vicki threaded her fingers through his hair, knowing she would never use such an affectionate gesture when he was awake, but no further reaction was forthcoming. It seemed she would just have to wait. The one thing she really sucked at.

So, Vicki sat there at Henry’s bedside and waited. And waited. Henry didn’t wake – actually, he didn’t do so much as twitch – while Vicki became more frustrated and jittery by the minute. After an eternity - at least in her estimation - she got up and left Henry to his own devices. It wasn’t like he would suddenly miss her company.

She started to feel the blood loss – an insisting pounding behind her forehead, a dry tongue and the tiniest feeling of dizziness - so she headed for the kitchen.

The kitchen was spotless, of course, for what use would a vampire have for it? It had all kinds of shiny toys up to the point where a laptop was built into one of the cupboards so one could go online and search for recipes. Or check the weather. Or whatever one was supposed to do with a laptop in the kitchen.

When she had first been in here, it had been virtually empty of food and drink. Quite some time had passed since then and Henry, obviously noticing that their latenight research sessions became only more frequent, had stocked up. Now, there was coffee in the cupboard (her favourite brand, even) and a few bottles of orange juice in the fridge. There were also a few ready meals and, naturally, chocolate. She decided against coffee – it was 4am, after all – and settled on orange juice and chocolate. Not the most healthy combination, but it would do. Sugar and vitamins were just what she needed right now.

Orange juice in one hand and the bar of chocolate in the other, she went back to the bedroom only to find Henry unchanged. She settled next to him on the bed, crosslegged, and dug into her food. If he didn’t wake before sunrise, she would have a whole day to panic about what to do next.

~*~

It felt like waking from the oblivion that held him in a firm grip during the day: there was the sudden awareness, which was slowly – painfully slowly - followed by sound, the ability to move and finally sight. Yes, it felt like waking; the only problem was Henry didn’t remember going to bed in the first place.

He opened his eyes and noticed several things at once: It was early morning. He was in his bed. And he was naked (well, almost). He realized that he had no idea how any of these things - let alone all three – could have happened and frowned, wracking his brain for an explanation.

Only then did he notice the taste of blood on his tongue. It was sweet and spicy all rolled into one, with that one flavour he could never quite place: Vicki’s blood!

Henry closed his eyes in the vain hope of blotting out at least some of the flashes of memory that started to assault him. How could his first lucid thought upon waking not have been the realization that he was not alone? How could he have failed to realize that the strong heartbeat reverberating through his being was Vicki’s? His thoughts felt sluggish, refusing to come together in a logical assessment of the situation. Instead, he he was assailed by the distinct memory of feeding from Vicki, of taking her. Of the first, he found the evidence still faintly on his tongue. Of the second, there was no evidence at all. Henry frowned, unsure of what had actually happened.

Vicki’s hand was on his chest, her fingers spread wide in what he found could be interpreted as a possessive gesture. On impulse, he took it and turned onto his side only to come face to face with Vicki, who had obviously been sleeping next to him. His movement had woken her though, and she blinked her eyes open. Henry brought their clasped hands up between them and kissed her knuckles with a quick brush of his lips. With Vicki, speed was always of the essence. It was quite possible she was not in the mood for a loving gesture like this. In that case, there was a good chance he’d end up with a broken nose.

At the moment, she didn’t argue with his little show of affection. She did not withdraw her hand, did not even acknowledge the kiss. Instead, when her eyes opened fully and her gaze fell on him, she cried his name in a mixture of worry, fear, relief and exasperation.

Only Victora Nelson, Private Investigator, was able to put all of those emotions into one word, and Henry was hard-pressed to decide whether he should be alarmed or amused.

“Vicki!” He tried to copy her tone of voice, but failed miserably. Vicki’s only response was to smack him lightly with her free hand. “Don’t make light of this, Henry! I thought you’d die on me. And I had no idea what to do!”

Her face was close. Close enough for a kiss. Definitely close enough for him to see a very real terror in her gaze. Whatever had happened, it had put that fear on her face. However, his memory was painfully blank. He did feel like he had run at full speed into a brick wall, but he definitely did not remember coming close to dying. But if he had, Vicki looked like she might have mourned his death, and the purely egoistical part of him rejoiced at the realization that she would miss him.

He licked his lips, tasting the last remnants of her blood. “It seems you were not as helpless as you think. I can still taste you.”

The statement sounded intimate, because it was just that to Henry – moreso with Vicki than with any other woman. She picked up on the innuendo and a healthy blush crepth up her cheeks. “Yeah, well. It was the only thing I could think of,” she quipped, but Henry could see that the fear was still there.

It was time to get to the bottom of this. He really needed to know what had happened! “I would guess it helped. Though, I’m not sure with what? Care to elaborate what happened? I fear this was the one date I could ever convince you to agree to and now I don’t remember the outcome.”

“Well, we both ended up in your bed. You should be pleased with yourself!” Apparently, Vicki was just rediscovering the use of her sharp tongue.

“Seriously, Victoria,” he said sternly, which caused Vicki to sober instantly.

“All right, all right! We were attacked.”

Something sparked in his mind, some half-formed memory of them walking along a street and an indistinct dark shape jumping at them suddenly. “You mean, you were attacked.”

“I guess so.” She shrugged and turned her wrist, so he could see the demon marks. “It probably came for this.” There was a pause. “So, you heroically intercepted the demon and it stabbed you with something sharp. A knife maybe, I didn’t see it.”

There was a twinge in his side. Probably the wound, but he assumed it would fully heal during the day. “I don’t remember any of this,” Henry said, feeling uncomfortable.

“Whatever the demon used, it must have been poisoned or cursed. Is there something like vampire-poison?” Vicki wondered aloud. Henry had never heard of anything like it, but the vivid dream of being with Vicki – that could not have come to him naturally. Though, now that he thought about it – if that was how dreams felt like he’d make a point of getting stabbed by demons more often.

Before he could answer her hypothetical question, she went on: “It’s simply impossible that it was a plain weapon. You went from dazed to incoherent to basically unconscious in a mere minute.”

There were a lot of questions he wanted to ask: How had she gotten him home? What kind of demon had it been? What had it wanted? He only asked the most important one: “How did you get away? You did get away, right?”

“Mace,” she said simply and Henry arched an eyebrow.

“Don’t go all princely on me,” Vicki chided, knowing his expression for the one royalty bore in the company of lowly beggars.

“You saved us from the demon with _mace_?” The eyebrow stayed up; he just couldn’t do anything about it.

“Yup. I only scared it away, naturally.”

“Naturally,” Henry echoed dryly. He wanted to shake some sense into her, tell her how risky that had been, how stupid and how dangerous. He took a deep breath for the only purpose of winning some time and overcoming the sentiment. Vicki probably knew all this and she had done it anyway. Whatever he said now would only belittle her effort.

“It will be back,” she said.

Henry nodded, thankful for the diversion. So they had another demon on their hands. They would have to do something about it, would need a battle plan. Not now, though. The sunrise was too close for him to be of much use to her.

“We’ll deal with this together,” he promised. “We’re a good team.”

She smiled a jaded, tired smile. “So you keep saying.”

“You take the day shift, I take the night shift. We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise.”

Vicki yawned. “In case you didn’t notice: I already took the night shift. I’d rather crash here for the day. How about we start our demon hunt at ... well, how about sunset?” She closed her eyes, considering their conversation finished.

“We have a deal, then.” He felt the lethargy of morning come over him. The sun was creeping into his awareness, hiding just a few minutes away. Only a few more minutes in which he could enjoy having Vicki so close. In his bed, in fact.

He still held her hand, and she had not objected to the quick kiss. Perhaps she was in a mellow mood. Perhaps the fear of him dying would make her allow more than she normally would.

“Vicki?” he asked. Her answer was a rather unfeminine grunt. Obviously, she was already half-asleep again.

“The sun is almost up. How about a Good-Morning kiss?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him suspiciously while he tried his best to look boyish and innocent. He had had centuries to perfect that look and could practically see how her resolve faltered and then flew out the window. The boyish facade vanished and Henry grinned wickedly instead, knowing he had won.

“I guess it’s okay to grant the seriously injured vampire a kiss,” Vicki mused aloud, but even before she had finished the sentence, Henry was already nibbling at her lower lip.

“Thank you for saving me,” he murmured.

“Anytime,” she whispered back. And then Henry’s lips found hers only moments before the sun exploded in his mind and the world retreated at a rapid pace.

They really needed to work on their timing.

_\- The End_

_(June 2009)_


End file.
